


Death is No Escape

by dark_pookha



Category: Original Work
Genre: Necromancy, Self-Harm, Stalking, Suicide, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-23 23:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21328270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dark_pookha/pseuds/dark_pookha
Summary: A man performs a rite to bring his beloved wife back from the dead.Written for TidalDragon's Knock-out Challenge 2019-20
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	Death is No Escape

The hooded man put a black candle at each corner of the pentagram, carefully making sure not to scuff the paint on any of the connecting lines. He opened the grimoire and checked the incantation one last time before lighting all the candles at once with a word.

_"Ignis."_

The flames immediately began to burn unnaturally bright. He stood in the center of the pentagram, in a pentagon made from the star's intersecting lines. His cheeks puffed out and his nostrils flared as he began circular breathing since the incantation required a continuous chant for twenty cantos.

He flowed easily through the first ten, mostly exhortations to various gods of death and rebirth, and almost stumbled in the eleventh when he called on an ancient deity from a long-lost pantheon whose name wasn't made to be pronounced by humans. He held on, and got it right, but as he approached the fourteenth, he felt the psychic resistance and pushed through. Circular breathing while clearing the mind and chanting was difficult, but he'd practiced for weeks before feeling comfortable actually performing the rite.

At the end of the fourteenth canto, the pressure eased until he reached the nineteenth and then the feeling of being watched and judged unworthy came on. He almost stopped and thought for just a split-second about ending it all and joining his wife in the afterlife, but the thought of her spurred him on and he finished it.

As he finished up the sixteenth, he could finally hear her voice. It started low and unintellgible, but as he continued, he could hear her more clearly.

"No, no, no, no..." she repeated ceaselessly.

Just one canto left and all of it in the language of the Old Gods. His voice rose in pitch and sped up as he hit the inflections that made the universe vibrate on a different harmony than humans usually heard. It struck a minor chord in his soul and the candles dimmed in response. The thought of her got him through.

The room around the pentagram filled with a presence, a feeling, a vast oppressive unnamed dread. He stated his case to it.

"You will return my wife, Olivia, to life and make her body whole and healthy. There will be no ill effects from her time gone."

It wailed and the candles almost went out, but he kept his mind fixed on what he wanted and repeated.

"You will return my wife, Olivia, to life and make her body whole and healthy. There will be no ill effects from her time gone."

It shrieked and gibbered insanely, almost pulling his sanity with it. When he could speak again he shouted.

"You will return my wife, Olivia, to life and make her body whole and healthy! There will be no ill effects from her time gone!" Thrice called, thrice sealed. So mote it be!"

The presence disappeared and he waited. He knew it could be a trick, a ploy to get him to leave the pentagram early. He counted to one thousand and then repeated.

"So mote it be!"

"So mote it be!"

Finally, he felt the magic respond and a crackling filled the room, just low enough to hear. The flames rose and fell, once, twice, thrice and then burned steady. That was the sign he'd been waiting for. He closed the book, erased a line from the pentagram and exited it. When he got to the other side, he lit the grimoire on fire with a spell and scattered its ashes around the pentagram.

Satisfied, he shucked off his robe and hung it on a hook. A sandy-haired, nondescript man of middle-age stood there in a grey polo and blue jeans. He ran a hand through his hair, checked his breath and went up the stairs to where his wife lay on their bed.

He looked at her wrists and only a small scar showed. An outline of black showed on the blanket where the poison and embalming fluid had left her body. Her face was pink and whole, and her deep breathing said she merely slept.

"Olivia," he said softly and shook her gently, but she didn't rouse.

"Olivia!" he shouted and shook her more roughly, but still no response.

He bent over and kissed her and her eyes flew open, horror in showing. She tried to pull back, but he held her firm. When he finally deigned to release the kiss, she screamed.

He silenced her with a word and a gesture.

"Olivia, you can't escape me in death. I will always bring you back."


End file.
